


Valley of Shadows

by Killermanatee, Wians



Series: The road ahead [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Disabled Character, F/M, Graphic Description, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Permanent Injury, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-07-12 01:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19937515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/pseuds/Killermanatee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wians/pseuds/Wians
Summary: They have been dreading this for ten years. Doesn't make it any easier.





	1. Chapter 1

“Captain, there’s an incoming transmission from Starfleet HQ. Admiral Cornwell is on the line, wanting to speak to you in private.” Lieutenant Holdo turned on her chair, facing the Captain’s seat.

Sylvia stood, feeling her skin crawl with an eerie foreboding. “Send it to my ready room.”

Every time there was a call from HQ while Chris wasn’t on Earth, she was antsy; palms sweating, mouth dry. It had been ten years since he had seen the future that scared the living shit out of him back on Discovery. He had only told her as much as it would happen after his promotion to Fleet Captain. Since he’d been put in that grey uniform two years before, they’d been on the edge. And it had only gotten worse.

\--

_He is still in just his undershirt, the grey jacket of his new uniform looming in the bedroom, and yet its presence is seeping out to the kitchen table. He’s barely had three sips of his coffee, his scrambled eggs have gone cold and his toast is equally untouched._

_She can relate, as she pushes the food back and forth on her own plate, her stomach in knots as she thinks of what his promotion to Fleet Captain means._

\--

Wanting to avoid too much time to think, she briskly walked over to her desk and pressed ‘receive call’. Admiral Cornwell appeared on the screen, looking tired and serious.

“Captain.”

“Admiral, Ma’am.”

She went straight to the point. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but there’s been an accident a few hours ago. It’s Chris, he is alive, but it’s... it’s bad,” she said sympathetically.

So this was it. Sylvia’s hands suddenly felt cold and numb, her mouth like sandpaper. She had known for a decade, but the blow still felt sharp and heavy in her guts.

\--

_The sleek grey jacket makes him look almost imposing when he enters the kitchen. But it is the tension in his jaw that gives Sylvia pause. The next step towards his premonition is hard on both of them._

_She takes a deep breath. “Well, it looks good on you.”_

_The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Small favors, right?”_

\--

She sat down on her chair, took a moment to take a deep breath. Her heart was hammering in her chest. “What happened?”

“He was teaching a class on a cadet vessel. One of the baffle plates gave out and the whole bridge was flooded with delta radiation. He managed to drag most of the cadets out, but the safety door shut him inside. He received a rather high dosage of radiation before they could get him out.”

The Admiral’s voice was steady, but Sylvia still recognized the effort with which Cornwell maintained it.

A radiation leak with delta rays. It was more than just ‘bad’, then. She knew what high doses of radiation could do to the human body. She toyed with the ring on her finger, heart aching in her chest as she thought of Chris. Of course he would subject himself to deadly radiation to save lives, her stupid, honourable man.

\--

_She wants to think of this as just another day at work, but then she hugs him and the new uniform is stiff and rough against her skin. The way he leans into her embrace and buries his face against her neck makes her heart ache._

_“It’s just the office,” he says quietly, possibly more to himself than her. “I’ll be okay at the office.”_

_“You can’t let it get to your head,” she tells him for what is possibly the hundredth time, gives him a crooked smile. “I can always tie you down.”_

\--

Cornwell had given her a moment to swallow the news, and now continued.

“Frankly, it’s a bit of a miracle that he’s still alive. I don’t have a full picture yet. For now, they’re trying to control the amount of damage. I’m sure we’ll have more answers soon. He’s been transferred to Starfleet Medical here in San Francisco and the radiation unit has put their best doctors on the job.”

“Permission to warp to Earth, Admiral,” she said. “We’ve very nearly finished our mission here.”

“Yes, of course, take all the leave you need, it’s your right.”

Sylvia nodded, a bit shakily. “How- how could the baffle plates rapture?” Those things were nearly one meter thick and meant to prevent these things from happening.

“We’re not sure, but we’re looking into it,” Cornwell said, and Sylvia saw her mouth tighten in a hard line. She was angry about the accident too.

“Thank you, Admiral.”

* * *

Her ship, the USS Archer, was giving it all she could back to Earth, and getting there faster would not save him, but everything in her was screaming that it was taking too long. It took three days before they finally arrived at Earth Spacedock, and she could take a shuttle down to Starfleet HQ. Three very long days of resisting the urge to call back every five minutes for updates, of not being able to sleep at night, horrifying images playing in her mind, of Chris all alone and probably in pain, scared.

She knew he wasn’t alone, she knew they were taking good care of him, but she wanted to be there yesterday.

\--

_“Captain Sylvia Tilly,” he says, with such obvious admiration that she is smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. “There are no words for how proud I am of you, for how much you deserve this.” He lets go of her enough to press a tender kiss to her lips that makes her skin tingle._

_“I get a week’s worth of leave on top of the promotion, they told me…” she trails off, biting her lip suggestively. When he smirks in response the lines on his forehead disappear and she can almost believe that they aren’t on borrowed time._

\--

She went directly to the Fleet Hospital: a large, white, and elegant building facing the river, overlooking the bridge and, in the distance, the city. The entrance hall was busy, and no one paid her any mind as she found her way to the reception.

She presented herself to the Andorian behind the desk, thanking her decade and a half of service that her voice remained steady. “I’m here for Fleet Captain Christopher Pike.”

The Andorian widened his eyes slightly, before putting on a face so stony that the worried knot in her stomach froze a couple of degrees more. “Block C, first floor, Captain. It’s the radiation unit, ICU,” he said, after typing on his screen. “Doctor Boyce has requested to be notified when you arrive, he will meet you there.”

She thanked him and hurried to find the correct hallway, just about preventing herself from running.

As soon as she entered into the intensive care unit, she saw Phil Boyce waiting for her in the corridor. The doctor looked tired and worried, deep lines around his mouth and a permanent frown between his brows.

“What’s the situation?” she demanded, having no patience to wait another second.

“It’s bad, Sylvia,” he said without preamble, “just so you’re warned.”

“So much I gathered,” she replied with just a hint of annoyance as they began walking down the corridor. Her heart was in her throat, and her skin was buzzing and tingling with fear. She was tired of being told ‘it’s bad’; she wanted to know just how bad. “Please just give me the details.”

“Right now we’re trying to limit the cellular disruption by placing him in a full-body decontamination chamber. The radiation shredded his skin, nervous system, and he suffered major fourth degree burns, and his bones are also affected. So far he’s paralyzed from the neck down.” He looked her in the eye, sympathetic. “We cannot begin to perform surgery on him before his cells have stopped falling apart under us, so we can’t say what state he’ll end up in. All we can do is keep him in that chamber to slow down the process, and try to manage his pain levels.”

“How long until you can say?” she asked.

“A few months.”

She had to use a moment to swallow that one. “Can I see him, please?”

“Yes,” Phil said, “this way”

\--

_He almost never talks about what he knows is coming, and she tries so hard to respect that. Even if it means he has to carry the burden alone and she never knows if she loves or hates him for his noble tendencies._

_So in the darkness of their bedroom, the open windows letting in the faint noises of the San Francisco night, she listens quietly when he tells her that he’s afraid, that the nightmares never go away. She listens and when his voice cracks she pulls him close, pretending she can keep the fear at bay._

\--

Steeling herself, she followed Phil the rest of the way in silence. She hoped she could stay strong for Chris, but even now she felt the tears sting her eyes, and her pulse was spiking.

Phil led her through a door into the ICU, took a sharp right turn, and walked a few doors down until they reached number ten. Phil opened the door, and the three nurses and the doctor inside all looked up as they entered, but kept working as Sylvia and Phil approached.

She heard him ask if they could be given five minutes, and was faintly aware of the nurses leaving.

But her eyes were fixed on Chris.

A chamber—she forced herself not to think ‘coffin’—enclosed him from the chin down; a large, grey monstrosity with blinking lights and several monitors. His head was completely covered in bandages and supported by a neck rest, and Sylvia spotted several IV lines coming up from the depths of the chair and connecting to monitors above his head. A respirator was placed through his nose, and the machine was making subtle whirring noises.

“Chris.”

Her voice broke over his name as she approached and very gently placed her hand on the chair, irrationally afraid that anything but the lightest of touches might hurt. His eyes were closed, but as she softly spoke his name again, the eye not covered in bandages opened slowly. It was bloodshot, the pupil blown wide. His jaw hung slightly open; his lips were gone, as was all the hair on his head, and the few places not covered in bandages were red and blistered.

Looking at his scarred, disfigured face sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt goosebumps down her neck and over her arms. The sound of the respirator rattled in her ears, and she could hardly keep her gaze on the thousand-yard-stare of his uncovered eye. She wanted to look away, and she was ashamed at that impulse, but it was horrifying.

She kept looking at him even as her vision blurred and her throat constricted.

“Can you hear me?” she whispered.

“He can,” Phil said, “he just can’t reply.”

“What- what can I do?”

She looked from Chris in the chair up at Phil, wanting to help him but unsure if she could.

“Right now, talk to him. He’s still going in and out of consciousness, but the chamber has stabilized him.” Phil went and fetched a chair that she could sit on. “Just don’t touch him.”

So she blinked her tears away and sat down next to her husband, told him about what she had seen and done during her latest missions not once looking away from his disfigured face.

\--

_He is fidgeting with his glass, making the ice clink in the last bit of whiskey. The noise brought on by his restlessness is honestly a little annoying while she is trying to compose a letter to her mother, but she can’t really blame him._

_When she looks up, he self-consciously finishes his drink and sets the glass on the table. “Sorry. Just… nervous.”_

_“Yeah,” she reaches out, wraps her fingers around his that aren’t just cold from the ice, “I know. I get the same every time they send you out with the cadets.”_

_He brings their hands to his lips and presses a kiss to her skin._

\--

She wasn’t sure how long she sat by his side, focussed on being a calm and soothing presence, but eventually Chris fell asleep, his head tilting slightly to the side, as much as the headrest allowed for.

“I’m going to have them put a bed in here for you, if you want to,” Phil offered.

“Thank you,” she said. She stood and felt her joints ache and complain. “I need a moment.”

The dead silence in the corridor was deafening after the respiratory noises and beeping instruments in Chris’ room. She really needed to be alone, to lean her head on the wall and close her eyes. Sinking into an uncomfortable chair in the hallway, she rubbed her hands over her face and sighed, shoulders slouching. She felt, numb, drained. Hollow.

A few moments later, she heard footsteps. Looking up, she saw Una coming towards her, a worried frown on her face, and beside her walked Spock. Una had been a Captain in her own right for years, and Spock was now first officer of the Enterprise, but they still came straight to Chris as fast as they could, and knowing that was a spark of relief.

Una, ever the beacon of confidence even in the face of crisis, gave Sylvia a firm hug, the strength of the embrace a welcome support.

“He’s going to pull through,” she said quietly, but with her usual determination that allowed no contradiction. “He always has, no matter how reckless he’s been.”

“Thanks,” Sylvia replied, letting go of Una. “Thank you two so much for coming. It really means a lot.”

Spock obviously didn’t show a sign of being emotionally affected, but nodded. “There was no question that we would both want to be here to offer our support in any way we are able to.”

They took seats across from Sylvia, all three of them falling silent.

\--

_“Happy birthday, darling.” His voice is warm and tender and the moment she hears it, she is suddenly painfully aware of how much she has missed him._

_She has only been captaining the Archer for two months, and the stress of her first command is so much more than she was prepared for. With his strong body against hers, she refuses to question what he’s doing here on Starbase 5 where the Archer is docked for a few day’s leave, because she is just too damn happy and relieved._

_Despite knowing what it means for him to be out here and not on Earth._

\--

Sunlight came in through the window in the far end of the hallway, warming up the yellow colour of the wall. She closed her eyes for a moment again to rub the heels of her hands over her face. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Michael sat down in the chair beside her, looking as worried as her Vulcan stoicism allowed.

“Michael, hi.” Her voice sounded hoarse in her own ears, and despite being so tired, she was thankful to see her friend.

“Spock told me what happened, but the news is out that he’s been injured,” Michael said, handing her a cup of tea. “Drink this, your body needs it.”

Sylvia grabbed it and gulped a mouthful down her sore throat without really tasting it. She didn’t know what to say.

“It must be overwhelming,” Michael said, sympathetic, not moving her calming hand from Sylvia’s arm. “I am here if you want to talk about it.”

She had held back her tears while with Chris, but now she felt her eyes sting. “I don’t know where to start.”

Michael shifted her hand to her thigh and rubbed gently. “Somewhere, anywhere. Speaking your emotions out loud might help.”

Sylvia sniffed, and then the floodgates of words opened.

“He is- when I saw it. God, Michael, he is... his body looks like, he can’t even move, he can’t talk, he’s - he’s trapped in that thing, and it looks so painful, I can’t...I don’t know what… what to do.”

She choked on the words. Her whole body ached, and her stomach felt like something sharp was stabbing through it. The loud sound of the respirator, all the monitors, and Chris’ burned face, the pain and fear he must be in. Yes, they had known this day would come, but she still felt like they hadn’t been prepared at all and it made her feel sick to her stomach.

Michael took the teacup from Sylvia’s hands and set it down before resolutely putting her arms around her.

“It may not seem like it now, but you two will get through this. You have each other, and you have so many people who love you both and who will help you with whatever you need.”

Sylvia buried her face into Michael’s shoulder and released the sobs she’d been holding back, leaning on her friend, trying her best to trust her words.


	2. Chapter 2

Sylvia spent the days after Chris' accident almost exclusively by his side. It was probably a blessing that he was under such strong drugs that kept him unconscious most of the time, because as claustrophobic as just thinking about being stuck in that chair made her feel, she could only imagine what the reality of it was is was doing to Chris.

She slept in his room for a week. They were restless nights of turning in the starchy sheets. While it felt good to be near Chris, to be able to look over at him, to hear the steady beeping and buzzing of the machines confirming he was alive, the constant reminder of his condition was tough. Eventually the doctors told her to go home, that it would be a long journey, that she still had a life she should take care of.

The first month felt like it only kept stretching out further and further. Sylvia’s request for the - so far - undetermined duration of leave had been granted immediately, and Admiral Komack had assured her that everyone had complete understanding for her focus on her husband’s recovery. But Sylvia was perfectly aware there was only so long she’d remain in charge of the _Archer_ if she wasn’t actually the one in the Captain's chair. As of now her XO, Commander Liv Persson, was calling the shots.

So far there was still no telling how long it would take for Chris to… well… they couldn’t even say how much of his old life he’d get back. So she did what she could; came to the hospital every day, sat by his side, hating how used she'd gotten to seeing him encased in the grey chamber. 

There was routine: a continuous repetition of her exercises in the morning before checking in with Persson on the _Archer_ over coffee and a protein shake; then she’d head to the hospital, always making sure to say hello to Chris first, even if he was so heavily sedated nobody could be sure if he was aware of her presence. From then it was all about talking to his doctors, updating friends and family, greeting whoever was visiting that day.

Most of the time had her just sitting near Chris, telling him whatever thoughts were on her mind; no more than a faint resemblance of the life they'd led before. 

Exactly thirty-eight days after the accident, Chris was still enclosed in that god-forsaken chamber, and Sylvia woke once again alone in their bed that seemed impossibly large on her own. Staring bleakly to her bedside table, she saw it was only half past five. The time wasn’t nearly as startling at the date underneath. March twenty-second. Their seventh wedding anniversary. 

\--

_She laughs as he spins her around. The music is loud, and everyone on the dance floor is sweating, because despite being outdoors, the night is hot and hardly a wind blows. When she returns back to his arms she spots the flush high on his cheeks and the grin she loves so much. They’ve both been drinking, and she is sure he feels just as tipsy as she does._

_He draws her in again, the music slowing down, and she can place her head on his chest and feel the heat radiating from him, look up and see his tender if lopsided smile, and feel his big hands on her back, caressing, touching. She closes her eyes and breathes in his nearness, remembers the way they’d danced at their wedding. Her chest is alight with warmth and tenderness, and she tips her head up for a kiss, their lips soft against each other._

_He’s always tactile and caring, but when he’s had a few drinks it is taken up a notch; always a hand on her thigh, an arm around her back, a kiss to her cheek. And laughter lighting up the room in a way it doesn’t usually do these days._

_"Happy sixth anniversary, darling.”_

_She opens her eyes and smiles up at him._

_“Happy anniversary.” Her smile is so wide her cheeks hurt, but at this moment, she is not thinking about the future; only the two of them, here and now._

\--

Staying in bed just wasn’t an option. She was sure sleep would elude her either way, so instead she went through her morning routine, using the extra time to straighten up their apartment, even if there was rarely much out of place with her days spent at the hospital. On her way out the door she paused only shortly, looking at the group photo in the hallway; her eyes drawn to Chris’ broad laugh, his arms wrapped around her midsection as they stood surrounded by their wedding guests. 

The gloomy thought that maybe he’d never smile like that again, never be able to hug her, let alone stand on his own two feet, sliced through her so without warning that she had to rub her face and press down hard on her tear ducts. She cursed the damn vision again for giving them the idea that if they knew what Chris' future held, it would be so much easier to cope with once the day arrived. 

What a massive load of stupidity that had been. 

Everything at the hospital was just like any other day. Chris was in his room, and showed no response when she greeted him. It was rare that he displayed any reaction to his surroundings, but it did hurt a little more on a day that they had both been looking forward to so much. 

She was given his status, the numbers and terms so familiar to her now. He was still improving, just as slowly as the days before, but it was worth something. Settling into her chair by his side, she pulled out the book she had packed for today. She ran her fingers over the leather binding, the worn material warm in her hands, and flipped to the first page. 

“Call me Ishmael,” she began.

\--

_“You can’t be serious!” she exclaims at his confession. “How is that your favorite book?”_

_“How?” he returns the question in exaggerated offense. “It’s a staple of classic Earth literature.”_

_She huffs at that._ _“Oh, don’t I know it.” She pulls off her undershirt and tosses it into the hamper. “We had to give a report on it in tenth grade. I managed to get an A but I thought I’d stab myself in the eye having to read all of it. How much can any teenager possibly want to know about whaling?”_

_With that, she has stripped down to her panties and pulls back the blankets._

_He adjusts his pillow, then looks back at her when she's settled in next to him. “I just happen to think it’s a piece of art.”_

_It’s such a simple statement and somehow says so much, and for a moment she is struck by how much she loves everything about him, even his questionable taste in books._

\---

Throughout the afternoon she received a few messages from their family and friends, wishing her strength to make it through the day. She knew they meant well, but while she appreciated the gesture, she was still left feeling alone. She stayed at the hospital all day, hoping to hide the quaking of her voice as she wished Chris a happy anniversary. There was always the chance of him hearing her and if he did, she wanted to make sure he would know that she hadn’t forgotten. 

She didn’t have to lie to herself: spending all day at Medical meant less time in their empty apartment that felt a lot less like a home, now that she mostly just used it as her place to sleep, shower and change her clothes. Especially today she had no interest in being on her own, with all of her friends on duty, most of them far off planet. 

When she eventually got back from seeing Chris, she didn’t want any dinner, but she knew she'd have to have something and then distract herself with a movie. It wouldn’t be the same without Chris at her side, who surprisingly often demanded a comedy. He had a reputation for being strict with the cadets; tough, and always with high expectations for his recruits. She sometimes wondered how their opinions would change at seeing their imposing instructor laughing himself silly with his wife on the couch. 

There was a deep pang in her chest as she sat down, a dietary shake in her hands, and turned on the TV.

\---

_She is distantly aware of the screen still being on, but all her focus is on the delicious weight of her husband half on top of her. There is just enough space for both of them, allowing for him to keep his weight on one arm while his free hand is pushing up under her shirt. She arches into him, tracing his firm back muscles._

_“I really like this couch,” he says with a rough voice before continuing to kiss along her jaw, up to her ear._

_“Mh,” she agrees, one legs coming up to pull him even closer. “We should break it in properly.”_

_He groans at that, pressing his hips against hers, making it very clear that he’s interested._

_Sliding her hand up to his cheek, finding the roughness of his five-o-clock shadow, she pulls his head back just enough so she can look into his eyes. His pupils are wide, his lips a little swollen and she grins. “Let’s just try to avoid getting stains on it the first day, okay?”_

\---

She sighed and leaned her head back against the couch. They'd both ensured leave for this year’s anniversary too, made plans to go to Rome, hopefully enjoying the warm Italian weather without too many tourists yet. They always used up all of their vacation days each year, working their way through the list of places they each wanted to see. They had to make plans, despite what loomed ahead; they’d agreed on that long ago. They had to live, not spend their life waiting. 

But now, in this new place that was _after_ , a whole different kind of waiting had begun. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a comm call. She hauled herself up from the couch and went to the desk, surprised to see Una on the line.

She was frankly amazed that their friend had time to call at all, knowing how busy she had to be with a Captaincy of her own. Sylvia did not bother hiding how haggard she felt when the video link was up and she saw Una’s face. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, Sylvia,” said Una. It was obviously after hours; Una seemed to be in her quarters and dressed in relaxed civvies. “I thought I’d call to make sure you’re holding up okay.” She paused, taking a moment to scrutinize Sylvia. “Oh, screw it. This is just shit, I am so sorry.”

The bluntness actually made Sylvia’s lips quirk up. She was so grateful that Una wasn’t asking her how she was, that she just went straight to it, and told her it was okay to feel terrible today. 

“Yes,” she nodded, feeling tired. “I read Moby Dick to Chris today, and then I came home, now I’m just about to watch a movie..”

They talked for a little while, Tilly giving Una the latest on Chris’ status and in turn hearing about Una’s annoyance with their diplomatic duties. It was nice to get her mind back out into the stars, a short escape from her life. So when it was time for Una to hung up, Sylvia thanked her for the call. 

Una shrugged. “Honey, it’s the least I can do. Say hi to Chris from me and tell him I expect him to be up on his own two feet next time I’m planetside.”

That actually made Sylvia grin. “I’ll tell him you’ll kick his ass otherwise.”

There was a moment of silence, both of them looking at each other before Una spoke up again. “Take care of yourself, Tilly. And if you need anything, even just to vent, I’m here, okay?”

“Thanks, Una. You take care too.”

\--

_“You won’t believe what happened today,” she tells him less than ten seconds into their video call, him being out on a diplomatic mission._

_“Some asshat Lieutenant in the mess asked me how it was to be your side fling, talking about how you and Una are super tight and everyone knows what you two get up to.” She rolls her eyes, groaning. “I told him ‘What makes you think he has any energy left for someone besides me?’”_

_He laughs heartily. “God, I love your snarky side, darling.”_

_She grins back at him, happy to have made him laugh. “I admit I was intimidated by Una at the beginning, though.”_

_“More than reasonable. Show me one person who's never been intimidated by her. Hell, sometimes I still am.” Then he sobers up. “Seriously, I’m sorry you had to listen to that bullshit.”_

_She shrugs. “The past is the past.”_

_He smiles slightly. “Aside from the fact that my dear XO would kick my ass if I ever ruined what you and I have.”_

_“Good thing I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”_

\--

She was very grateful that Una had taken the time to call now. Maybe it had been the wrong decision to plan on spending today alone, but at 21:00 hours it was probably a bit late to change that. 

She'd just sat back down on the couch when the doorbell chimed. Outside stood Phil Boyce, a thick overcoat over his lean frame, and a bag of something in his arms that smelled so heavenly Sylvia’s stomach growled. 

“Phil! Hi, come in.”

“I brought food, and none of that replicated junk, actual food.” He paused, sighed and gave her a crooked smile. “And I also didn’t want to be alone today.” He brushed his feet off on the mat and hung up his coat, and she saw him stop and linger at the wedding holo in the hallway. He’d been Chris’ best man, and had gotten mushy eyed at his own speech.

“It smells good,” she said as she put the bags on the kitchen counter.

Phil tore his gaze from the holo and joined her in the kitchen. “It’s just lasagna, and garlic bread, but it is homemade.” His eyes fell on her glass on the couch table. “A replicated shake? Sylvia, really? You need to eat.” His tone was a bit teasing, and gently scolding, but there was worry underneath.

“I didn’t feel like eating.”

Phil just nodded, and helped her take out plates and cutlery.

They sat down at the kitchen table. The alluring scent of Phil's cooking filled the kitchen, and Sylvia felt a little less tense because of it. The apartment felt a little less lonely now, a little less cold. She asked about Phil’s day, and for a few moments they didn't talk about Chris and his condition while they served themselves portions of lasagna, and dug in. She started feeling better after a few mouthfuls.

There was a comfortable pause. She looked at Phil across the table; seemingly older and even leaner than usual. With a pang in her heart, she thought of how his eyes had lingered on the photo in the hallway.

\--

_They are holding hands under the table. She’s almost vibrating with sheer happiness as they all listen to Phil’s best man speech, the warmth spreading out in every fiber of her being as Chris’ best friend talks about how happy he can see they make each other, and how happy that is making him in turn._

_Her freshly minted husband (and isn't that just blowing her mind) squeezes her hand, gives her a look that is so full of adoration and love that she almost tears up._

_Then his eyes are back on Phil, listening, red faced but laughing with everyone when Phil ends his speech saying, “and I am glad you finally found someone who can help you with astrophysics!”_

\--

"I know this is hard on you too,” she said. She’d known Phill for years, but never really talked about deeply emotional things, not before now.

Phil looked her in the eye for a moment, stilling before he nodded. “Yeah.” He hesitated a bit, avoided her eyes, and it seemed he was debating with himself, perhaps about how much he should tell her. “The worst is that... I was his CMO for fifteen years, and,” he pushed his food back and forth on his plate, “every damn time, no matter what he got himself into that nearly cost him his life, I could always bring him back. Broken bones, caved in chest, fractured skull, liquified organs, bleeding out on the floor. Always, and he knew he could count on me to fix it. I hate that I'm not sure I can help him now.”

Beside being Chris’ best friend, Phil Boyce was known through the scientific community: he’d received several medals for deeds and discoveries in the medical field, and the only reason he was not yet an Admiral was because he’d been satisfied as CMO on the _Enterprise_.

She nodded, sympathetic. “You know he’d never hold it against you, it's not your fault.” 

It was no one’s fault, and she'd known before marrying him that Chris was the kind of man who’d do the right thing even when it scared him shitless. “Sometimes, I'm really angry at him for doing it, going through with it,” she confessed. “Doing this to himself, to us, and angry at the world.”

Phil looked up at her for a moment. “I knew he knew something was coming,” he mumbled. “He never told me what....” He shook his head. “But no, it is not surprising. I don’t blame you for being angry at it all, I think it’s a normal reaction when life throws something like this at you,” continued Phil, a corner of his mouth curling up.

“Thank you.” It was so good to have someone validate how she felt. “I am angry, and at the same time I know it’s who he is. And I love who he is... or was?” 

She wondered if she would ever be able to as much as talk with him again, and she felt her eyes sting, and instead focused on her next bite of lasagna. 

Phil waited until she continued. 

“It's what's so hard, I know he's alive, yet... I miss him like he's dead… I miss his arms around me, I miss his kisses…" She sniffed, her voice breaking, and she took a deep breath and a large gulp of her water. "Hell, I even miss the way he used twenty fucking minutes in the fresher in the morning.” 

“I know,” Phil chuckled. “Vain bastard. I’ve been teasing him about it for years.”

“I teased him about it too, he takes longer than I do!” she laughed, but her throat still felt tight. “He always had a snarky reply.” 

For all that he was the accomplished Captain, and later the strict teacher of Cadets, Chris had a humorous side a mile wide, and she loved it. And it was really nice talking to Phil about something else than prognosis and treatments and results. To share with him stories of the man they both loved, if in different ways.

“You wouldn’t believe what a cocky little shit he was when I got to know him at first, you know, back when he was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed cadet,” Phil said warmly. Sylvia knew Phil had already been working at the fleet clinic back then.

It felt freeing to share Phil's smile, even if the heavy feeling in her chest remained. Sometimes she wished she’d known Chris back then. She suspected he’d been a lot like Jim Kirk, whom she had lived two doors down from at the academy and befriended. To be honest, the two of them were still alike. 

“I miss that too. I miss how we used to laugh ourselves silly over funny movies. Phil, I just.. I just miss him so fucking much.” Now she couldn't contain her tears, and wiped them away with a paper towel. 

Phil squeezed her hand gently, letting her have a moment to compose herself.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized.

“Don’t be, you’re holding up all day, you are allowed to fall apart once in a while,” he said gently. 

After a moment, Phil spoke again. “Actually, we did get the results from today’s scan back, just after you left.”

“Did they show anything new?” she asked, heart in her throat.

“We think we'll be able to remove him from the decontamination chamber tomorrow to run further tests and scans that had to wait until the radiation levels had dropped enough.”

This was it, she felt. In a moment she would know how much of her husband she could get back. 

“And? What exactly does that mean?”

“If it goes well, it hopefully means we can operate on him. Today’s tests have shown us that his heart works, and we can repair his respiratory system and speech ability. As for the rest.” Here Phil sighed. “We're not sure at all, and further scans will tell us how much we can do.”

“Okay, that, that is good news, that is such good news.” She knew she was rambling slightly. “When will you operate if it goes well?”

“As quick as possible, first thing in the morning, preferably.” Phil gave her a serious look, the one she and Chris usually only saw when he was talking to patients. “This is just the first of many procedures he'll have to go through. He'll have to be put back into the chamber for at least another month, most likely longer.” 

Fear, excitement and hope washed through her, her heart beating fast. She imagined how he’d wake up, meet her gaze, smile at her, maybe even say her name. It was wonderful and scary news simultaneously. And it was really hard to reign that excitement back in, to not let her hopes get away from her. 

“But you think he'll be able to leave it?” she asked, doing her best to keep her emotions under control.

"At least eventually?" she added quickly. 

“Yes, I think so,” Phil said, a little smile on his lips.

She breathed out slowly, knowing that even if everything went well, it would still be an uphill battle. But for the first time after more than a month of moving at a snail's pace, she wanted to be allowed to hope, to feel that maybe there was a lighter future ahead. 

She returned Phil’s smile, thankful that against all her expectations he'd allowed for her anniversary to end on a hopeful note.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [Sciosophia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciosophia/pseuds/sciosophia) for betaing. <3


End file.
